Free Dirty Work by Chelle Bliss, Brenda Rothert Page B

Lex. “If you lean out of the car you can get more of the background in it.”
    “Fuck you,” she mumbles.
    I laugh and nudge her. “I’ll just take a selfie.”
    I take some photos of us, and she tries to smile but looks like she’s on the edge of passing out. Apparently facing her fear of rusty carnival rides wasn’t the key to overcoming it.
    The color returns to her face as soon as we get back on the ground. She leads the way to the arena we’re due at, and we find a crowd waiting when we get there.
    “Reagan, can I get a picture with you?” a teenage girl asks.
    “Of course.”
    One picture leads to another, and after I’ve done photos and handshakes with everyone who wants to, a man in jeans with a big belt buckle and cowboy boots leads me over to a small stage.
    The arena’s stands are filled with people. Kids are tending to horses and other animals, some with ribbons on their enclosures. There’s an earthy, fresh dirt and grass smell that I suspect won’t last in the summer heat. Soon the arena will smell like sweaty people and animals.
    “We’re honored to have Reagan Preston with us today,” the man with the belt buckle says into a microphone. He reads my bio and then talks about the charity the pig-kissing event raised money for.
    When he passes me the mic, I only speak for a couple minutes. This doesn’t feel like a political event to me. It’s a place I can unwind and step away from the rigors of campaigning, and when I tell the crowd I’m honored to be here, I absolutely mean it.
    When the cowboy comes over to me with a piglet in his arms, the crowd roars to life. It’s little and pink and cute as hell. I wish I could take it with me.
    “This is Mortimer,” the cowboy says into the mic. “You ready to pucker up for him?”
    I lean over to speak into the mic. “So ready. Mortimer is cuter than most of the guys I’ve been out with.”
    The crowd is laughing and clapping as the cowboy holds Mortimer up, and I lean forward to kiss his snout. It’s soft and firm at the same time. I hear the clicking and see the flashing of cameras catching this moment.
    The cowboy puts Mortimer in my arms, and I snuggle him close. He roots around my face, sniffing and making piggy sounds. News photographers and my campaign photographer are still taking photos so I enjoy the moment. It makes me wish I had a pet.
    “You’re a good sport, Ms. Preston,” the cowboy says into the microphone. “You’re invited to take part in the pig chase too, but we’ll give you a pass if you want to keep your clothes clean.”
    He winks at me and is about to continue when I lean over and say, “I’m not worried about my clothes getting dirty.”
    The people in the stands clap and yell their approval.
    The cowboy gives me a skeptical look. “You think you can catch a muddy pig, city girl?”
    “I’ll give it my best shot.”
    He throws back his head and laughs. The crowd is loving this. I’m not even sure what I’ve just gotten myself into, but how bad can it be?
    I have my answer five minutes later when I’m standing in the center of the arena with a handful of teenagers. Our mission is to catch the tiny pig casually walking around a large, very muddy fenced-in area.
    Lexi is watching from the sidelines, and I meet her gaze. She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Why is it impossible for me to back down from a challenge?
    I tie my long hair into a ponytail as the cowboy reads the rules to the entire arena. First one to catch the pig wins $100. I decide to donate the money to the children’s cancer hospital if I win.
    It’s me, three teenage boys, and one teenage girl. The boy next to me is staring at my chest, and I give him a pointed look. He just grins and tips his John Deere cap at me.
    When the cowboy tells us to go, the teenagers take off at a run. I lag behind, my flip-flops squishing through the mud.
    The small pig sees what’s up and takes off for the other side of the enclosure.